Taking Out the Tiger
an excerpt

Chapter 1

It was the closest thing to dying that Ian had ever been. The car had been mere inches from his body, going the other way, and showing no signs of stopping. However, Ian knew that there was no malice in the attack. It was the risk of the race.

And race he did. He pedalled as hard as he could. A quick look behind him showed him that his opponent was within eyesight. This was not a good sign.

It had started a few hours before. Ian, ever the risk taking gambler, had made a bet. He made the bet that he could ride through the city on his bicycle faster than another man could a car. The wager, a mere fifty dollars. The stakes, reputation and apparently, Ian’s life.

Ian redoubled his pedalling and looked down the road. Traffic was becoming snarled, this was good as it would slow down the car, while offering him on his bike the narrow passages that would provide quick access to the target. He approached the gridlock hoping that it would hold for about fifteen minutes. That would guarantee him victory.

Another quick look back showed that his opponent was heading right for the congestion. He looked forward and immediately slammed into a car door that had been opened by an irate driver intent on destroying the man in the car ahead of him. Ian did a double flip and landed on his shoulder and completed an inelegant roll forward into a minivan.

“God damn it” he muttered under his breath. “I need to get back at it.” He looked up to see the face of the man whose door he just hit.

“What the hell do you think you are doing to my car?” he growled, still looking at the driver of the minivan.

“I’ll get the cops, and we can sort this one out. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Listen, ass. I don’t want to see the cops involved. Just get the hell out of my face.”

Ian bent down, picked up his bike, conducted a quick inspection, and remounted. As he pedalled out, he realised that he was hurt. But that pain would have to wait until after the race. He looked behind him one more time, hoping to see his opponent still locked in the blockage. To his horror, he did not see the car at all. It had disappeared down a side street.

He started pedalling, and pushing his bike along the street. In order to avoid other opening doors, he decided to face the pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk. He climbed the sidewalk in front of the old Bay store, dodging high school students hanging on the corner. He pushed his bike as fast as he could, feeling the burning in his legs, lungs and painful sore. He passed under a pedestrian overpass, looked down the side street and saw his opponent crammed into another snarl.

In order to get across the Provencher Street bridge, he needed to take some shortcuts through the Forks. He made a daring crossing of Main Street just as his opponent came ripping off Broadway. Ian jumped the curb at the Forks and entered the grounds. He pressed his legs even further, and crossed the pavilion location.

It was on the far side that he saw it. The railway tracks. He had pushed himelf so much that he was unsure that he had the energy to jump the rails in a series of bunny hops. As he was about to go headfirst into the ground once again he managed to sidestep the tracks and see some construction materials piled up by a siding. He headed straight for it and headed up a ramp made of plywood and spare rail ties.

He managed just enough forward velocity to get over the last rail. After this, it should be clear sailing.

Once beyond the railway lines, he hit the street heading to the bridge. It was full of cars driving in a nice flowing manner towards the bridge. As it was a full boulevard, he was afforded plenty of space and he could push himself. He knew his opponent would have to cross the Main Street Bridge over the Assiniboine. That would add about five minutes to his journey. With the objective being Riel’s gravesite, he had plenty of time.

As Ian approached the bridge, he saw to his horror that the surface was under construction, and that traffic was blocked in both directions, and under the control of flag persons. Ian realised that unless he could reduce the impact of this construction, he was in trouble.

He blew past the flag person without showing any sign of stopping. The flag person hollered some obscenities at him, but they fell on his backside as he screamed away. Dead ahead of him was some broad, awkward piece of construction equipment that created a lot of noise and steam. He looked left and saw that it was a loose pile of asphalt that awaited him there. To the right, was a long patch of rough pavement. He chose right.

He hit the pavement and immediately slowed down like a golf ball hit into the rough. It was not exactly rough pavement, but loose asphalt that had yet to be rolled into the smooth surface that would be its final product.

Doing everything in his power to prevent him from losing his balance, he managed to power his way through the ten metres of asphalt. On the far side, he was beyond the construction. He, once again, pushed hard on his pedals. He started to be pelted from the rear with bits of asphalt that had stuck to his tires. He finally managed to get across the bridge and pedalling like mad down Boulevard Tache. The cathedral rose into sight. His lungs on fire, his muscles protesting every push, he rode into view of the turn for Riel’s grave. He looked forward, towards the Convent to see if his opponent was coming down the road. He could not see it, but Ian knew that this meant nothing.

Choosing his time carefully, he cut through traffic as he made his left turn onto the road with the cathedral. Looking ahead, he could see the group of people who were forming his reception party. He barely got his front wheel up on the curb, he was exhausted. He pushed one last time and finally applied the brakes at the base of the monument. He fell off the bike, collapsing on the grave.

For a moment, all he wanted to do was lay there, and breathe. He did not know whether he had beaten his opponent, or whether he had lost. All he knew was that he was spent. His mouth had written a cheque that his body had just cashed.

While he was lying there, he felt a bit of communion with Louis Riel. Riel, like Ian, took on an opponent who was vastly more prepared than he for a fight. However, unlike Riel, Ian could take advantage of certain situations to eliminate his opponent’s advantage.

Ian sat up, rasping still, and looked for his friend Dave. Seeing the familiar face with the huge smile gave Ian all the news he needed, he had won.

He stood up, and without delay, a cold can of Blue was shoved into his hand. It was not what Ian wanted at the moment, but despite his misgivings about drinking this beverage at the moment, he gulped the bitter, golden liquid down in one draught.

At long last, he caught his breath enough to ask, “Where’s buddy?”

Dave, still grinning like a fool, replied “He’s not here yet. I don’t think he’ll show because he’ll have to pay. Hahahaha!”

Ian smiled and tossed the can to the celebratory student who gave it to him. He surveilled the crowd, realising that he knew very few of the people here. This had started at the University of Winnipeg as a rough bet. Ian’s friends had boasted of Ian’s speed on a bicycle around the city when another student challenged him on a ride from Polo Park to Riel’s grave. Ian, never one to turn down a bet, accepted. And now he was the victor.

He continued to look at the faces in the crowd. The crowd seemed to be almost exclusively students about his age. One face stood out in particular a little ways from the crowd. She was a beauty. She had dark, straight hair, crystal green eyes, and a feminine, but strong aura about her. Ian gave her one of his “winning” smiles, and she turned away starting to walk towards the cathedral. Slightly disappointed, but not giving it another thought, Ian turned back to his admiring crowd.

At that moment, the car he was racing came tearing down the street. He pulled up towards the grave, and pulled onto the curb stopping just a foot away from Ian’s bike, still laying on the ground. The other student jumped out of the car spewing forth a long string of well practiced epithets.

Trying to hide his personal joy at seeing this pompous ass being knocked down a notch, Ian walked forward to try to give his opponent an honourable handshake and wish him well on having done a good race.

“Get away from me you frigging ass,” screamed the student. “I don’t shake the hand of cheaters.”

Taken slightly aback, but not one to stand down from a scrap, Ian got his hackles up and rose to the challenge. “What’s eating you? I beat you fair and square. I believe you owe me fifty bucks!”

“Shut up. You did not take the same route as me. You cheated by taking another bridge. You knew that I could not go over the Provencher Bridge. You’re not getting a cent from me!”

His ire getting up, Ian retorted, “Listen, you idiot. You never said anything about a route. You wanted my money, and you lost. Now, do you want to pay up, or do I have to embarrass you again?”

“You want to dance, tough guy?”

“Not really, I want my money.” With that, Ian stood up straight. The crowd, suddenly realising that they were witnessing what could be the beginning of a scrap, moved around to give them room. They started cheering, supporting Ian, and forming a ring where his opponent was hemmed in.

Ian could see his opponent’s eyes darting around at the developments. Ian could guess that this guy never thought that he would stand up to him. He looked afraid. His façade began to crumble, right before Ian’s eyes.

“Well raced,” he managed to mutter as he offered his hand.

Ian, realising right then that he had won, grasped the hand, shook it heartily, and turned to the student with the beer. “Give him one.” A few pats on the back and the entire crowd was back into the party mode.

Five minutes later, both contestants were telling tales, Ian was showing his wounds, and all were laughing. Ian’s opponent pulled out his wallet, fished out fifty dollars, and slapped it into Ian’s hand.

“Call me if you want a rematch,” were his parting words.

Not wanting to press his luck, Ian replied “Not this week!”

Once the crowd started to clear, he left the shadow of the monument and went to pick up his bike. He was realising then the soreness from his accident. He groaned as he grabbed the handlebars. A decent look at the bike surprised him with the damage he noticed. The front tire was warped, break pads missing, and it was out of alignment. He was surprised that it worked. The power of adrenaline amazed him.

As his eyes lifted from the bike, they fell upon the riveting countenance of the beautiful woman he saw before. Unable to speak, he showed his magnetic smile.

“I’m impressed,” she started, with a clear, sultry voice that would melt the inhibitions of almost any man. “Do you race often?”

Unable to say anything yet, Ian continued to smile, while staring at this woman.

“I’m conducting a study at the U of M. It’s about ‘adrenaline junkies’ and what I’ve seen here correlates perfectly into my work. Would you be willing to let me study you?”

Realising that she was offering time with her, regardless of the fact that he was the subject and she the researcher, he acquiesced with an energetic nod.

“I’m going to need a contact number to set up the interview”, she prodded.

Mustering his best testosterone voice, he gave her his phone number. He followed immediately with “Do you want to grab a coffee?”

She smiled that radiant smile once again, but reaffirmed “I’ll call you to set up the interview.” With that she turned and walked away, leaving Ian feeling like he had goofed in the biggest way possible with the most beautiful woman he had ever the opportunity to meet.

Turning back towards his bike, Dave was there, still grinning like the fool. “Brother, she cooled your jets pretty quickly.”

“Shut up, let’s go get a beer, I’ll buy the first one.”